May Cooler Heads Prevail (22 page)

“Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.” Billy shrugged and pocketed the key. “I’ll be real quiet while I’m back there so’s I don’t disturb any customers. How’s that?”

“That’s fine, Billy,” Connie said. “You go on home and get some rest now.”

Billy took a couple of steps toward the door then turned around. “Uh, I haven’t read the notes Otis took for the report yet or had much of a chance to talk with the sheriff, so I was sorta wondering if any of you saw anything or know why someone would shoot Truman in the back like that?”

Aunt Nissa shook her head. “We didn’t see anyone.”

Before Aunt Nissa could say any more, Aunt Connie
jumped in, and in a grumpy tone of voice said, “Seems like we weren’t a lot of help to Otis.”

Otis would have been very proud of my two aunts. After all, he told us that if anyone asked, we were to tell them that we hadn’t been much help. Which, all things considered, was amazingly true!

Billy left just as Marsha came out of the elevator and greeted us. Marsha was an efficient woman. She had everyone in Emergency straightened out about Uncle Rudd and Freedom and ushered us up to the third floor in record time.

Warning us not to stay long, Marsha gave us Truman’s room number then left to tend to another patient. We went down the hallway in single file to leave room for the nurses going back and forth. Since Aunt Connie was the one with the flowers tucked tightly in the crook of her arm, she insisted on leading.

At the doorway to Truman’s room, Aunt Connie started to go in then stopped abruptly. Aunt Nissa plowed right into her and I plowed into Aunt Nissa. Aunt Connie whirled around and pushed us backward.

Raising a finger to her lips, she whispered, “Be real quiet. Sam’s in there on his knees by the chair, praying.”

Aunt Nissa rubbed her eyes. “Why don’t we give Sam some time and go back down the hall to that vending area we passed and get us some coffee. I could use a little caffeine about now.”

I didn’t really want anything, so I told them I would wait
in the hallway for them.

Aunt Nissa reached up and kissed me on the forehead then followed Aunt Connie down the hall. I watched them until they disappeared into the vending area, then I peeked into Truman’s room. No longer kneeling on the floor, Sam was slouching in the chair next to Truman’s bed.

I walked just inside the doorway, and as softly as I could I asked, “How’s he doing?”

Sam jerked his head up. “Dixie! Marsha told me you were coming, but I didn’t hear you come in.” He gave me a wide grin. “Thank the good Lord, he’s doing quite well.”

I noticed Sam’s eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and he was sniffling to keep his nose from running. Reaching into my purse, I grabbed a tissue and handed it to him.

Ignoring the tissue, Sam got up and leaned against the wall a few feet away. “Guess you probably think it’s kinda silly for a grown man to cry.”

“I think it’s silly that you go to the trouble to shed tears for a good friend and refuse to blow your nose afterward.” I held the tissue out again.

This time Sam took it. Giving me a sheepish grin, he mumbled a thank-you and blew his nose.

I took a look at Truman. His breathing was even, and his color looked pretty good. I had some apologizing to do, but that could wait until he felt better. I hoped Truman would forgive me—for his sake, as well as mine.

“Sam,” I said, “you look like you could use a little break.

There’s a vending area down the hall. Aunt Nissa and Aunt Connie are down there now. How about we go get a cup of coffee or a soda?” I was hoping he would say yes. That way we could talk a little and not worry about disturbing Truman.

Sam agreed and we made our way down the hallway to the vending area. Aunt Connie and Aunt Nissa were just finishing their cups of coffee. They decided they would go on down to Truman’s room and sit with him for a while. I could see that Sam was relieved that someone would be with Truman.

I got a soda, he chose coffee, and we settled down at a small round table. Purely as a conversation starter, I asked, “Did Marsha call you when they brought Truman in?”

Looking forlorn and bewildered, Sam answered, “Yeah, she knows Truman’s a close friend, so she called me right away. You know, I talked to Truman on the phone earlier this evening. He was all excited about going over to the shop to have a meeting with you folks. Just never expected someone to shoot him like that. Didn’t realize he would be in any danger. I should have seen it coming, though.” Suddenly Sam grabbed his coffee, got up from his chair, and went to stand by the window. He stood there staring out at the black darkness. I got up and stood beside him.

Turning his face toward me and looking at me with sadness in his eyes, he said hoarsely, “I should have warned him or gone with him or done something!”

That didn’t make sense. What could he have possibly
warned Truman about? “You couldn’t have known what would happen to Truman tonight, Sam. None of us knew what was going to happen, except the person who shot him. It’s not your fault. There’s really nothing you could’ve done.”

Sam said, “That’s where you’re wrong. Do you know why Truman was so excited about being invited over to interview you folks?”

I felt confused. As far as I knew we only told Truman he was invited over to talk about the burglary, and that’s what I told Sam.

“That’s not why he was excited.” Sam slowly shook his head. “Truman thought he had a bigger story.”

“A bigger story? What do you mean?”

Sam took my arm and led me back to the table where we had been sitting. “I don’t know if I should be telling you all this, but right now I need to talk to someone.”

He sipped his coffee and we sat quietly. I let him gather his thoughts. Finally he said, “Okay, here goes.” Then he stopped and cocked his head slightly to the side as if he wanted to make sure he said the right thing in the right way. “Dixie, do you know much about Aaron Scott coming back into town?”

That was a question I hadn’t expected. Now it was my turn to say the right thing in the right way. “I know he came back into town the other day after he disappeared forty years ago on the day he was to marry Aunt Connie.”

Sam gave me a quick nod and watched my face very
carefully. “The thing is, a lot of people saw him in Kenna Springs, but nobody has seen him lately. According to Truman, nobody saw him leave town, either.”

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and my mouth went dry. I wondered just how much Truman actually knew about Aaron Scott. “So what does Truman think happened to Aaron?”

Looking at me from hangdog brown eyes, Sam only hesitated a second. “He thinks that someone murdered Aaron before he could leave town! Apparently he’s done some checking and has sort of a theory going. He thinks that Aaron left town in the first place because of something he saw just before his wedding to Connie. Truman figures that whatever Aaron saw all those years ago got him murdered when he came back to Kenna Springs. Although Truman doesn’t have a good answer as to why Aaron would risk coming back here in the first place.”

I could have told Sam that Aaron Scott came back because a dying man has nothing to lose, but I didn’t. Instead, I asked another question. “Does Truman have any idea what it was that Aaron saw the night before the wedding?”

“That’s the thing. Truman felt pretty certain he had figured out what it was Aaron witnessed that night. He said that information gave him a pretty good idea who would want to murder Aaron after he showed up a few days ago. I figure whatever Truman knew, or thought he knew, is what got him shot. He wouldn’t tell me the details. Truman just said he
wanted to talk with all of you tonight and check a few things out. From what I gathered, he thought Rudd or Connie had some sort of information he wanted. I guess he wanted to go over what happened the day of the wedding.” Sam finished off his coffee and crushed the now empty Styrofoam cup with his hand. “Truth is, I thought Truman was making a lot out of nothing when he told me he suspected Aaron Scott had been murdered. I figured Aaron just left town. That’s all there was to it. But then somebody shot Truman!”

There was such anguish in Sam’s voice I wanted to gather him up in my arms, protect him somehow, take away his pain, but I couldn’t. We had promised Otis we wouldn’t tell anyone. I could do one thing, though. I could point him in the right direction. “Sam, there was nothing you could have done to prevent this, but you can do something to help. You can call Otis and tell him what you know. Before you call, think about all the things Truman has told you about his suspicions. Try to remember every little scrap of information. Write it down. Make sure you tell the sheriff everything. And do it soon, Sam. Don’t wait.”

I saw a little hope come into Sam’s eyes as I spoke to him. A thin, tight smile spread across his mouth. He nodded. “You’re absolutely right. I should talk to Otis. I started to tell Billy, but I didn’t. I kept thinking maybe there was some other reason Truman got shot, and I should just shut my mouth until I could think about all of this. I didn’t want any of it to be true. But what other reason could there be?

Truman was on to something and it got him shot. Thanks, Dixie. You’ve helped me sort things out. You know, you listen well and ask good questions. You’d make a whiz-bang counselor.”

Apparently Sam had forgotten that counseling is what I do for a living. That didn’t matter at the moment, though.

“If you want to write down what Truman told you, I think I have a pen and notebook in my purse,” I offered.

Sam shook his head. “I think I got it pretty straight. Although, come to think of it, I do remember something else Truman told me. When I asked him who he thought could have murdered Aaron, he wouldn’t give me a name. The only thing he would say is that he needed to be sure because he was about to accuse a big fish in a little pond, and it wouldn’t do to be wrong.”

Sam stood up. “Listen, Dixie. I think while you ladies are here and can be with Truman, I’ll go call Otis and tell him what I know. Besides, if Truman wakes up any time soon, it will thrill him that Connie came and even brought him some flowers.”

I must have looked a little bewildered at the thought that Truman would be thrilled to see my aunt, because in a hurried fluster of words, Sam stammered, “Oh, dear… oh, dear me. That just flew out of my mouth. I probably shouldn’t have said that about Connie. Please don’t tell her that Truman has a crush on her.”

“Truman has a crush on Aunt Connie?”

Sam’s face flushed six or seven different shades of red as he explained. “Truman’s had a crush on her ever since they worked together on the decorating committee last summer for the Kenna Springs Founder’s Day Fish Fry. He’s been trying to work up the courage to ask her out. So far all he’s managed to do is to drive by her place every morning before he goes to work. You won’t tell anyone, especially Connie, will you?”

All I could do was to stare at Sam and mutter, “No, of course not.”

Sam left to go down the hallway and call Otis on the phone down at the nurses’ desk. I knew I should leave also, and go see about Truman and my aunts, but I just sat at the table feeling stunned. I needed to sort out in my mind some of the things Sam had told me. I needed to concentrate specifically on what he told me about Truman’s suspicions. But all I could think about was Truman Spencer having a crush on Aunt Connie.

I kept picturing Truman and Aunt Connie walking hand in hand down the street, while looking lovingly into each others’ eyes. I physically shook my head to knock that picture out of my mind. Then I pictured them sitting in church together, sharing a hymnal. I had a hard time shaking that picture.

After a while I got used to the idea and decided it might not be a bad match. Although both of them had strong personalities and each of them had quirks, it might work. I
wondered if Aunt Connie would go on a date with Truman if he ever got up the nerve to ask her out. I had to admit, though, that the picture of staid, rather pompous Truman attending a Tanner family reunion was hard to imagine. On the other hand, stranger things have happened.

It was almost fun, in an absurd sort of way, to think about Truman and Aunt Connie, but I needed to concentrate on Truman’s suspicions. Purposely turning my thoughts away from the possible romance between Aunt Connie and Truman, I was finally able to concentrate on what Sam had told me. Praying for guidance, I began to focus on the last thing Sam had said about Truman telling him that the murderer was a big fish in a little pond.

I reasoned that if this big fish had killed Dolly, then it made sense that he killed her because he would have a lot to lose if she were alive. She had told Chad Gunther that some big shot was interested in her. Someone from Kenna Springs that she thought was going to marry her. It had to be someone not only from Kenna Springs, but also someone who attended the bachelor party. If not Truman, who would that leave? Who in Kenna Springs had the most to lose? Who could Dolly make trouble for, especially if he didn’t want to, or maybe couldn’t, marry her?

Only one name came to mind. Latham Sheffield. Suddenly I knew what Truman knew. It made so much sense. Uncle Rudd had said that Latham was engaged to Barbara at the time. Barbara’s family was as well-off as the Sheffield
family. Latham wouldn’t want anything or anyone to prevent his marriage to Barbara. It wasn’t hard to imagine that Dolly had interpreted his attention as love. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened. It made my stomach queasy to think that Dolly was murdered to save the Sheffield name and status. But how did Aaron Scott fit into all of this?

Whatever went on that night, Aaron was so scared he ran. I wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t run, if he had gone to the sheriff” with what he knew. Things might have been different. But he hadn’t. He’d just left town and disappeared. Maybe he figured Latham was too powerful, and there wouldn’t be any use in trying to fight him.

It was not just my stomach that felt queasy, my heart and my mind felt sick, also. Laying my head down on the table in front of me, I prayed. I prayed that God would protect my family, protect Freedom, protect Truman, and protect me. And I prayed for Latham, poor sick Latham. Not that he would get away with murder; no, never that. I prayed that Latham would somehow, someway, be stopped from harming anyone else. Maybe he would come to the end of himself and seek God’s forgiveness.